


Patience

by reapertownusa



Series: Control and Virtue [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bondage, Cock & Ball Torture, Dom/sub, Handcuffs, M/M, Nudity, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Toys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-11
Updated: 2011-04-11
Packaged: 2017-11-26 18:39:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/653236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reapertownusa/pseuds/reapertownusa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Henricksen thinks he’s teaching patience, but mostly Dean is just trying his.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Patience

**Author's Note:**

> Nothing resembling a plot with a capital PWP. Written for salt_burn_porn for de_nugis's prompt the cat that ate the canary. Sequel to Control and Virtue.

Dean blew in through the motel room with all the unrestrained force of a Category 5 hurricane. The energy of his presence shattered the calm stillness, demanding nothing less than complete attention. 

With one hand, he fumbled to hang the bent ‘Do not disturb’ sign on the outside of the tarnished doorknob while the other arm worked to slip free of his overshirt. The unwanted fabric hit the ground before the door could be shoved closed. 

He didn’t make it past the end of the entry hallway before stripping off the black t-shirt that had been hugging his toned chest. His hands feverishly tugged the leather of his belt free from its buckle before he even bothered to look up. 

Partially unzipped, low slung jeans hung loosely at his hips as he stood suddenly still, looking guilty as hell. His expression was uncertain, as if he knew he’d done something wrong, but was unsure which of his many infractions he was about to be charged with. It was a familiar look on his face. 

Victor stood at the foot of the bed in his casual wear of loose jeans and a comfortable sweatshirt. His socked foot tapped warningly against the stained carpet. Whatever it was Dean had done, they both knew Victor would figure it out soon enough.

For now, Dean’s eyes recovered to a look of innocence before meeting Victor’s. The slight hint of nerves was pushed aside for a classic Winchester grin, seeping with smug satisfaction. 

“Why the long face, Vicky?” The words were casual, but Dean’s voice was already more than a little breathy. Neither of them were pretending that Dean had made up a case to satisfy his brother and driven half way across the country for the stimulating conversation. “Aren’t you happy to see me?” 

Usually, Victor looked forward to taking in the view of Dean traipsing naked around his hotel room. The view tonight was no less anticipated, but the spectacle was marred by new injuries.

Jagged, parallel lines that looked for all the world like large claw marks ran over the ribs down Dean’s right side. The wounds had healed and were in the process of fading, but still stood out harshly over Dean’s fair skin. 

A mixture of curiosity and concern begged the investigator in Victor to ask what had happened, but even in his rush to strip, Dean still held his arm purposefully over the wounds like he expected to somehow be able to hide them in plain sight. 

Dean’s eyes said it clearly enough. Battle scars were among the things he had come here to forget. Victor regrouped himself and set about to do just that for Dean. For them both. 

“Delighted,” Victor deadpanned. “But you’re a guest in my room.” He nodded towards the pile of discarded clothes. “Pick them up.” 

“How about worrying less about housekeeping and more about getting me off?” 

Victor raised a challenging brow. “Try a little respect and we’ll see if I let you get off.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

At the near whimper, Victor could scarcely conceal his smirk. While he didn’t have the heart tonight, Dean had sufficient past experience to believe that it was more than an idle theat. 

Grudgingly, Dean bent forward to retrieve the discarded articles of clothing. By the time he raised back to his full height, Victor was there, standing directly behind him. He pulled Dean against him and listened to the rushed breaths that came once Dean let himself breathe again. 

As Victor guided him to the main room, he felt the silent rebuttal vibrate through every fiber of Dean’s body. When he was on edge, being restrained from behind was difficult for Dean. It was a vulnerable position for anyone, but even more so for a man living Dean’s lifestyle. Even if it screamed against every instinct Dean had, Victor needed Dean to let himself fully acknowledge that he was safe here. 

His grip tightened until he felt Dean surrender, relaxing back into his hold. Even then he could still feel the pounding of Dean’s heart as he set his hand over Dean’s tattoo. 

He explored downward, over the newly raised skin of Dean’s side that remapped the familiar contours of his body. Victor's hand lay over the marks, his fingers spreading wide to mirror the spacing of the lines. 

“You alright?” 

“Aside from the fact my balls are killing me and my brother is on my case about why I’m suddenly modest about my dick?” 

Dean pushed greedily into Victor’s touch, begging for further contact. It had been a month since anyone had intimately touched him, that Victor knew for a fact. He drew Dean in closer to answer the silent request, though his brow knitted at Dean's words.

“How often is your brother looking?” Dean hesitated in his answer long enough that Victor cut him off. There were some things about Dean that he didn't need to know. “Forget I asked. I really don't need to hear that Agent Reed was right about that one.” 

When Victor followed Dean's lowered eyes he saw the real reason for Dean's hesitation in answering. A second set of gashes, matching the ones over Dean's side, peeked out from the jeans that were slipping from his hips. Victor pushed down the pants, drawing a moan from Dean as he tugged down the band of Dean’s boxers to expose the trail of ragged lines that journeyed over the hollow of Dean’s hip and down his thigh. 

He grimaced, not at the appearance of the scars that would soon enough fade to smooth white, but at how severe the wounds had been. They ran close enough to Dean’s groin that Sam wanting to look down there made sense in a way that left Victor's stomach unsettled. 

As always, Dean picked up on the awkward silence and broke it. “I gotta hand it to you, at least the thing makes for a decent suit of armor.” 

Victor slid his hand into Dean’s boxers where they now road low on his upper thighs. Beneath them he felt the familiar smoothness of the cock cage’s warmed metal. Dean thrust uselessly into his hand as Victor's fingers encircled the solid chastity tube. 

He drew the boxers lower until they slipped down Dean’s slightly spread legs. With an evaluating stare, he took in the satisfying sight of Dean’s fully restrained cock and glanced over the restraint’s lock for signs of tampering. Idly, he moved down to ghost a gentle stroke over Dean’s exposed balls. The simple touch shook through the young man’s entire body. 

Victor braced a steadying hand on Dean’s side and savored the tension of uncertainty. If there was any question whether Dean's wandering mind was fully focused on the here and now, Victor rectified it with several sound slaps to the swollen balls. Dean only barely managed to strangle the guttural groan in his throat. 

“Sore?” Victor asked as his touch again became deceptively delicate. 

"Now I am." Though with his eyes glistening, Dean couldn't deny that he had already been aching. “They’re throbbing like mother fuckers and this bastard’s starting to chafe.” 

“We could stand around and talk about how much you deserved it or you could lose the rest of your clothes and get on that bed.” 

Dean bent forward the instant Victor released him. The arched angle accentuated the long lines of his solid back while he waggled his ass tauntingly in the air. As he hurriedly untied his boots, Victor followed the curves presented to him, his fingers sliding along the crease and causing the muscles to clench. 

When he took a step back, Dean rose again and toed off his boots before stepping from his fallen jeans. A few cocky steps and he was perched on the edge of the bed. He eagerly spread his legs and pushed his hips forward to demand attention be paid to his contained cock. 

“Anytime now.” Dean snapped his fingers and motioned towards his unattended groin. “Come on," he groaned when Victor didn't run to his service. "You got this damn key or not?” 

“What did I tell you about patience, Dean?” 

Victor stepped forward, but not with the intention of rewarding the demands. From the first moment he'd laid eyes on Dean, he'd savored watching this man squirm. At the time, he couldn't have possibly imagined just how delightful that activity could be.

The hope in Dean's eyes flared to frustration when Victor's hand came from his pocket empty. Instead of paying any attention to the lock, he turned his attention to the opening at the bottom of the tube. The tip of his finger slid against it, pressing teasingly over the already moist slit of Dean's trapped cock. 

Dean braced himself with his hands as his head tilted back and he stared blindly up past the ceiling. He mumbled some incoherent curse or prayer before fighting to catch his breath enough to speak. 

“That you want to marry the bitch?” 

In response to the incorrect answer, Victor gave Dean's unprotected balls a good enough squeeze to leave Dean doubled-over gasping. 

“I’ve waited a whole goddamn month to get off,” Dean panted. “I oughtta be nominated for sainthood. Fuck patience...better yet, fuck me.” 

The tone was no more respectful, but at least Dean finally had the right idea. Victor’s own very free cock twitched in anticipation of doing just that. 

Victor eased Dean back to lay flat on the mattress with a smile on his lips. “I wouldn’t hold your breath on that nomination for sainthood."

"Yeah, well, they got a special place in hell for teases like you," Dean huffed.

With a chuckle, Victor pulled a warmed tube of lube from his pocket. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you there." 

Dean didn’t need to be told what to do. Once he saw the bottle, he automatically drew up his legs, hugging his knees to his chest to open himself to Victor. It was stunning how compliant the smart ass could be when it brought him closer to getting what he wanted. 

Victor’s hands gripped Dean's ass, further parting the waiting cheeks and not hesitating to firmly push in a slicked finger. As he massaged the opening, he ran his free hand over the heated skin of Dean's spread thighs and drank in the needy groans Dean no longer bothered to muffle. 

The mattress springs squeaked beneath Dean as he shifted. Even half lost in a haze, Dean cringed at the grating sound. “You know, your taste in lodging has really gone down hill.” 

The corner of Victor's lips raised as he abruptly pulled out of Dean, leaving him lying untouched on the bed. “I'll have you know, I had to search through photos of dozens of crappy motel rooms to find this place."

Dean glared at the loss of contact before his eyes again took in the room. “Was it the country decoupage meets Mad Max décor that did it for you?” 

It was admittedly, likely the junkiest excuse for a motel room on the east coast. The colors were nauseatingly garish, the pre-remote television was probably older than Dean and it smelled almost as bad as it looked. It was low class even by Winchester standards, but for tonight it was perfect for one clear reason. 

“The beds have bedposts.” 

Victor left Dean to walk over to the bed stand. Dean looked over the bed's design before staring at him in confusion. “Okay, Mr. Random. Who the hell cares if...?” 

From the drawer, Victor revealed a couple of pairs of handcuffs, dangling them by the chains and drinking in the sight of Dean’s nervous tongue running over his obscenely supple lips. It was nearly enough for Victor to insist on an extended interlude that featured Dean on his knees. 

Dean’s eyes moved up to lock with Victor's, saying everything without saying anything at all. It was a silent assurance of trust. Scooting up on the mattress, Dean settled with his head on the pillow and arms raised above his head. 

Victor’s already half hard cocked swelled at the state of Dean’s naked body willingly splayed over the bed. With a firm grasp Victor took the powerful wrist closest to him and snapped the cuff closed around it before securing the cuff to the bedpost. Dean’s body hummed with a nervous energy that somehow eased as the second metal cuff clanked locked over his wrist. 

It was as if taking the control, just for that moment, lifted the weight of the world from Dean's shoulders. Right now, all Dean had to worry about was losing himself in the blind need that so obviously pulsed through his body and left him wriggling in the confines of the restraints. 

The mighty Dean Winchester whimpered as Victor moved on to further abuse his needy balls. He stopped his torment only long enough to join Dean on the bed, settling in between Dean’s anxiously shifting legs and unzipping his own pants. He hadn't bothered to put on his briefs tonight. 

With a commanding grip, he grasped Dean’s knees, folding up Dean's legs and pressing his thighs to his chest. Victor's slicked fingers moistened his own cock before rolling Dean’s hips up further, completely exposing him. 

Pinned on his back and restrained to the headboard, Dean had no control over the amount of force Henricksen used. The first few thrusts were restrained as he watched Dean’s face for any sign of undesirable tension. When Dean looked only impatient, Victor let his movements shift up to the pounding pace it screamed for. 

The springs of the damn mattress rattled enough that Sam, and everyone else in this place, could probably hear them clear down the hall. Victor was far from caring as his flesh slapped against Dean’s. Tight heat clenched around him while Dean no doubt made every effort to hurry him along. 

It wasn’t going to get Dean release any faster, but it was enough for Victor’s mind to check out from the dingy motel room. He still retained the presence of mind to mercilessly angle his body forward so that with each thrusting motion he jostled against Dean’s caged cock. 

Dean arched up to try to increase the friction that wouldn’t come. It wasn't until Victor’s buried cock must have slammed against Dean's prostate that Dean turned his attention to shifting his angle to seek pleasure there. 

By the time Victor had found his release, they were both left panting, glazed eyes vaguely meeting each other's. Victor pushed back to again rest on his knees, running a hand over Dean’s quaking thigh muscles. He rubbed down into Dean’s tight curls, slipped his thumb down to rub circles against the delicate skin beneath Dean's balls and did everything short of touch Dean where he craved it most. 

Dean all but growled. Victor didn’t bother to hide his wicked grin as he leaned over Dean, again brushing against him while he dug into the bed stand drawer. Pushing aside the bible, he reached beneath it to pull out a small set of keys. 

“About damn time, you son of a bitch,” Dean breathed as he splayed his legs further. 

“Gratitude, Dean” Henricksen reprimanded. 

Dean’s mouth opened to spew a follow-up comment, but snapped shut at the harsh swat Victor applied to his area of concern. He gritted his teeth, his eyes again watering and his tongue momentarily still in his mouth. 

With a satisfied nod, Victor unlocked and removed the small padlock and pulled apart the pieces of the chastity tube to let Dean’s leaking cock fall free. Even then, he avoided contact aside from the necessary adjustments to remove the anchor ring from behind Dean's balls. 

Much to Dean’s obvious horror, Victor then sat back, taking a moment to enjoy the sight. In frustration, Dean strained against the cuffs that bit into his wrists. Ridiculously, he tried to angle his hips so that he could rub himself against the mattress, but it was no accident that Victor had bound him on his back. 

Dean started to pull up his knee as if he seriously thought he was going to be allowed to flip himself over while Victor watched. Sometimes he wondered if Dean would ever learn. 

Victor easily captured the leg, though he knew it was easy only because Dean had allowed it. After shoving the trembling leg back down to the bed, Victor delivered a quick barrage of slaps to Dean’s newly freed and excessively tender cock. Dean's face twisted. He jerked all the harder against the jingling restraints when Victor positioned his own legs to pin down both of Dean's. 

Only when Dean sagged acceptingly in the restraints did Victor’s hand move to gently cup Dean’s aching balls. He could also tell by the sharp way that Dean’s hips twisted, that the twitching of his freshly unrestrained cock was as much uncomfortable as it was freeing. 

Victor applied soft strokes, but Dean’s jutting hips, his clipped breaths and half closed eyes begged for something far less tender. Victor obliged, tightening his grip and pumping his hand over Dean’s nearly instantly rigid cock. He flick ruthlessly at the dripping head and barely moved his other hand to fondle Dean’s balls before they pulled tight and the entire bed shuddered. 

By the time he let his head collapse down to the pillow, Dean's hair was damp with sweat. His eyes were unfocused, but with a mischievous twinkle. Victor narrowed his own eyes at the self-satisfied Cheshire cat grin that spread over Dean's parted lips. 

"What are you gloating about? I said you couldn't sneak your way out of this one. Face it, Dean, I won the bet."

Dean's strained arms gave the cuffs at his wrists a sharp tug. His eyes looked up at them as if evaluating his situation, but whatever he had been hoping for, he shrugged off. The smirk on his lips only widened and he nestled back into the pillow as if he didn't plan on going anywhere anytime soon. Victor stopped short of reaching for the keys to the handcuffs when Dean spoke. 

"Dude, you totally lost."

It took a long moment of staring into Dean's eyes before Victor again reached over Dean, retrieving the discarded padlock from the bed stand. He held it beneath the lamp light to read the etched serial number before stabbing Dean with a sharp glare. It was a different padlock than the one he'd put on Dean.

If Victor had bothered to look that closely earlier, Dean would still be locked in the thing. As it was, Dean could have left well enough alone and Victor would've never been the wiser, but apparently five hundred dollars was worth enduring what Victor was about to do to him. 

Then again, the goading sparkle in Dean's eyes said it didn't have a damn thing to do with the money. 

With a disbelieving shake of his head, Victor tossed the lock into the drawer and brushed the keys to the handcuffs in with it before slamming the drawer closed. “You better get comfortable.”


End file.
